


it's comfortable when it's not hazardous

by bummerang



Category: RWBY
Genre: Birthdays, But mostly fluff, Fire, First Date, Impromptu Picnic, Light Angst, M/M, gratuitous fluff, it's mostly cotton candy in here, plot what plot only fluff, rwbymlmweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-26 06:13:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14396019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bummerang/pseuds/bummerang
Summary: In which these disasters try to muddle their way into the beginning of the rest of their lives.Written for rwbymlmweek on tumblr.





	1. Qrow tries romance but romance ain't having none of that.

**Author's Note:**

> Have a sudden week thing. (ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ This is going to be one story with each chapter corresponding with a theme provided on the rwbymlmweek tumblr. I'm writing this in something of a rush, but I hope you find some of it enjoyable anyway~
> 
> Day 1 is First Date.

He should have been used to shit going up in flames around him by now.

Three minutes and two floors back into the burning apartment building, with a birdcage swinging from one hand and the actual fattest cat tucked under his other arm, Qrow regretted being optimistic about the night when he could have saved himself the singed clothes and the smoke in his lungs by taking a couple of pizzas or boxes of takeout to Ozpin's office.

But no, he had to try something _romantic_ for once—because it mattered, for once. For years, Qrow's idea of a date involved a few pitchers of beer and a dish or three of peanuts. Candles were only involved if there was a blackout or if the bar was too middle of nowhere for electricity. He never got any complaints. But, truthfully, somebody he just happened to meet out on the road, who was lonely and keen enough to flirt back, was usually out for a different kind of satisfaction than dinner.

And, well—he'd never thought he would have to do any more than that. That he'd ever _want_ to do any more than that. He wasn't like Summer or Tai. Commitment like theirs wasn't his thing. Somebody like him, so transient by necessity that he could almost fool himself it was by choice—he wasn't any good for it.

But now, he wanted to be.

If somebody had told him a week ago that the idiot he'd been secretly and hopelessly crushing on for four years would suddenly say to him, “Would you mind terribly much if I kissed you?”—well, fuck. Who said shit like that, anyway?

Apparently Ozpin, whose mild expression had been somewhat ruined by the blush on his face. He obviously hadn't known what he was doing but doing it anyway, and that was more than Qrow could have said for himself. And when Qrow, utterly dumbstruck, had finally managed a little 'yeah'—

Ozpin had been so damn _light_. His hand tenderly cupping Qrow's face, thumb stroking over his cheek, and he'd looked at Qrow with something that might have been surprise and could have been disbelief—which wasn't really fair, because how could Qrow _ever_ be worth that? And his kiss had been so soft, just a lingering touch, like he'd been afraid of wanting more. And Qrow couldn't have _that_ , so he'd pushed harder into the kiss, sliding his hands on either side of Ozpin's waist, leaning forward—and toppling them both over Ozpin's stupid chair.

And it'd hurt, yeah, but—feeling Ozpin shaking with laughter beneath him, watching as he pulled off his glasses to wipe at his eyes, lamenting the unfortunately spiky design of his office furniture—it was also maybe the happiest Qrow had been in a long while.

Maybe he'd always wanted more, and it hadn't been until that moment that he knew what 'more' really was.

So of course he had to try better than beer and peanuts, damn it. _Let's go out,_ he'd said. _It'll be fine,_ he'd said, when Ozpin raised a skeptical eyebrow at him.

He should have listened to that eyebrow. He was six feet of living misfortune. Of course there was no way things would ever be fine.

But one thing at a time, because things were literally burning down around him.

Second floor wasn't _too_ high up. A choice between the raging inferno that was once the staircase and the clear window at the end of the hall—red and blue lights flashing reassuringly across the glass—wasn't really a choice at all. Hefting the cat to get it in a better position, he steeled himself and started running.

But halfway into it, he realized the window was smaller than it had appeared two seconds ago and—well—

Then he steeled himself literally, bringing his aura up charged and dense, and as he approached the window he closed his eyes and jumped, smashing through glass and plaster and brick. The impact still felt exactly like he'd just run headlong into a goddamn wall, but the brunt of it was lessened by his sturdy cushion of aura, saving him the part where he would likely have knocked himself out. He landed on the top of an ambulance, skidding off it and onto the street.

“Uh,” said the bemused paramedic whose arms he dumped the screeching pets into. Qrow hurried away, eager to get back into the building, because there was at least one more person in it.

Before they'd gone in, Ozpin had insisted on giving Qrow his scarf. No, maybe insisted was too fucking polite—like a jackass, he'd grabbed Qrow and wound it around his neck against his will, and then he'd run off with nothing over his own face. Qrow knew that Ozpin could withstand some pretty stupid things with his weirdly supercharged aura. But aura wasn't an air filter. It was good for things like going through brick walls and providing light shielding from flames, but not so much for shit like smoke inhalation.

Qrow swore as he charged up staircase after staircase, that if the idiot died because he'd fucked up his very normal, mortal lungs—

Up the third staircase, he ran through the fire and came up short as he barreled straight into Ozpin, who had been on his way down. Ozpin caught him by the elbows, steadying him.

“It's clear up there,” he said, slightly muffled through the cloth around his face. Whatever it was had cheery little cartoon sunflowers on it. Qrow was relieved he'd found something after all, but was still pissed about the scarf.

“Down here, too. I was just—“ _looking for you_ , but he never got there.

Without a creak or snap of warning, the staircase collapsed all at once, and Qrow was so distracted by Ozpin's aura suddenly flaring, a cool and tangible presence against his own, that he was barely aware of Ozpin's arms wrapping tightly around him as they fell through the flames.

Qrow knew that there was a high probability it wasn't his Semblance at work. The staircase had been burning for ages, the wood weakened and turned half into charcoal, and they'd stood around longer than was absolutely necessary (which Qrow would take full responsibility for, shamefully too relieved that he'd found Ozpin to have noticed much else).

But he also knew that the gods hated them both, so he was keeping an open mind, even as they finally stopped falling when they landed on a heap of broken wood, stirring up a cloud of dust and ash. Qrow coughed into Ozpin's shoulder, eyes watering both from the smoke—and literally everything in the air—and being winded by the fall. He felt the prickle of Ozpin's aura against his cheek as it flickered down, settling back once again.

“Worst shortcut ever,” Qrow groaned. He glanced around when he noticed the familiar tile beneath the wood, abruptly realizing they were in the lobby. The entrance stood a couple of feet away, washed out light filtering through the smoked glass.

 

Beneath him, Ozpin made a low noise that Qrow took for agreement. “Are you all right?” he asked, worry clear even in his muffled voice. His hands were carefully roaming down Qrow's sides, probably checking for injury. It was nice, and under almost any other circumstance Qrow would make some joke about being felt up, but—

“You're the one that went through three floors,” Qrow said incredulously, raising his head. “Are _you_ all right?”

“Well enough," he said mildly. "But—“

Qrow stiffened. He didn't like that kind of 'but'.

“—if you don't mind, I'd like to catch my breath.”

 _Oh._ Qrow shuffled off onto the tiled flooring. Ozpin sat up, coughing heavily into his facecloth.

“You sure you're all right?”

“Other than my back acutely reminding me of my age, I'm fine.” He stood quickly, reaching out a hand for Qrow to take. “As exciting as that was,” he said faintly, staring up at the hole they'd made, “perhaps we should leave before the rest decides to follow suit.”

Qrow was already dragging him to the entrance before he'd finished.

\---

It was a while before Qrow managed to slip away from his very determined paramedic, sneaking to the next ambulance over to drag Ozpin into the closest alley. He would have preferred leaving Ozpin in their care, just to make sure he was all right, but this was definitely not the kind of attention either of them wanted to draw.

“Did they recognize you?” Qrow doubted it. Even if he hadn't disguised himself, the ash from the fire would have been sufficient.

Ozpin had dyed his hair black for the outing, using a bottle that he'd admitted had been sitting in the back of his closet probably for more than a decade. And he'd swapped his usual outfit for a worn-out jacket, a buttoned shirt, and dress slacks. But he kept the scarf. Qrow suspected the thing would have to be pried from his cold, dead hands.

The funny thing was, even with all of his usual defining characteristics taken away, Qrow wasn't really seeing someone else. It was still Ozpin, somehow, in a bunch of little ways. The sound of his laugh and the curve of his smile, indulgent when Qrow was looking, softer when he thought Qrow wasn't. It was in the way he held himself so closely, but he would loosen for Qrow, like he did now, hand in hand, letting Qrow guide him down the alley.

But then, maybe it was just Qrow who could see all of this.

“I don't believe so,” Ozpin said. He sounded better, which relieved Qrow more than he could possibly express. “I did confirm that everyone in the building was accounted for—even the pets.”

So had Qrow. He'd been mostly sure, and he knew Ozpin would have been thorough—but it was good to have that certainty, even if he did have to hound five cops and his scary paramedic to get the numbers. “Good to know I can add 'saved a cat and a parakeet from being roasted' to my resume.”

“And I may add 'rescued two goldfish' to mine. It will certainly be eye-catching.”

Qrow snorted as they came up to the end, rounding the corner. It was getting late; there were less people out and around, now. Downtown Vale was never actually empty, but it got quieter as people drifted off the streets and into places. Home, bars, clubs. It was better for him and Ozpin, soot-stained and smoky as they were. He slowed down a bit, waiting for Ozpin to catch up beside him. He kept hold of his hand, but Ozpin didn't seem to mind at all. “That the most impressive thing you've ever done?” Qrow said, bumping Ozpin's shoulder.

“By far. I must admit it isn't easy carrying two fishbowls down six flights of stairs. It takes a certain finesse that I most definitely did not exhibit.”

“Stairs of fire and death. I think you can be forgiven for looking less than graceful.”

“Perhaps.” He turned to Qrow, smiling ruefully. “I'm sorry this night didn't go as planned.”

Qrow blinked, then shrugged, dismissing it. “Like there was a plan.” He supposed he did have one, until they discovered that Ozpin's favorite restaurant was closed for renovations, and Qrow's second choice was full up for the night, and his third choice had— _ha_ —burned the fuck down two weeks ago—

Maybe the apartment building _was_ his fault. His Semblance sending out a great big 'fuck you' at random to some point within a mile of him, just because he wanted a nice time with Ozpin. Something good to remember.

If there ever was a sign that the gods probably didn't want them together, this night was it.

Well, fuck 'em. They were shitty gods. He squeezed Ozpin's hand a little tighter.

“Can't say it was wasted, though, right?” Because hey, even he could find the silver lining sometimes. “We saved like twenty people and a tiny zoo. That's a win.”

Ozpin smiled. “Indeed.”

“I'm fucking starving, though.” He hadn't eaten all day. He'd been too nervous to think he could keep anything down.

Ozpin pointed at something ahead—it was a brightly-lit convenience store just on the next block. “They have sandwiches.”

Qrow stared.

“We never did have our date.” It was hard to tell under the ash, but he was pretty sure Ozpin was blushing. “The park is nearby. It's likely empty now.”

“You wanna have a picnic?” Qrow blurted with surprise.

Ozpin seemed to hunch into himself. “Ah, I thought—no, of course it's rather late—“

“Yeah—I mean, no—I mean—I like picnics.” Qrow winced. _Why._ Choosing not to dig himself deeper, he turned toward the convenience store, but not before he caught the strangely soft look on Ozpin's face.

 


	2. A (not so) misspent youth.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 2: Past Lives

When Ozpin was eighteen—and he'd been eighteen many, many times, but in this life—he properly met James Ironwood after they'd knocked each other out at the finals during the Vytal Festival.

Ozpin had been bundled up in the infirmary, sulking and trying in vain to fall asleep, when there had been a sort of hesitant tapping on his curtain and a nasally voice that said, “Hey, you okay?” And no, he hadn't been 'okay', because this great brute had broken two of his ribs and punched him in the eye and he had no aura left to heal himself or ease the pain.

“Well, you broke _my_ ribs and my nose,” the voice beyond the curtain had said, “so let's call it even? How do you think I felt getting whacked by a green bean?”

Ozpin had been so preoccupied with the realization that James was _there_ that he'd barely registered the insult. “Why are you _upright_?” he'd hissed, partly in pain and partly in frustration, after he'd managed to pull back the curtain.

James had shrugged. “I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

And somehow, despite all reason, they'd spent the rest of the afternoon talking, because James wouldn't leave and Ozpin hadn't yet learned the art of dismissing people through tone of voice alone. But only after Ozpin had gotten him to rest in the bed opposite his, _I am not responsible for your stupidity thank you very much_.

A week after, just as Ozpin had been boarding an airship to return to Vale, James had come crashing through a nearby shrubbery and asked him for his number. Aside from the shock (and some amusement as one of the nearby field attendants yelled at James for being inconsiderate of his own academy's plant life)—Ozpin had felt something flutter warmly in his chest, pleasant and new. Seeing James' faint blush when he quickly scribbled the number on his arm hadn't made anything easier.

He never would have anticipated spending so many late nights messaging a boy three thousand miles away, or that he'd enjoy it as much as he did. Or the sudden call that would come on an otherwise quiet Saturday.

“I stole an airship,” James had declared, sounding rather proud of himself.

“Congratulations.” It had been a bemused, automatic response. Mostly, Ozpin had been trying to process _'I stole an airship'_ from James Ironwood of all people.

“I wanted to see you.”

For a good second, Ozpin had been alarmed by the thought of the jail sentence James had been risking for something so small—and then he'd felt his face heat up because _he_ was that something small. “...I literally have no idea what to say.”

“Well, in five seconds I'm going to ask you out for a drink. And if you say yes, it'll mostly take the sting out if I get expelled.”

Ozpin never imagined saying no. And many unsubtle looks and twice that amount of dubious, colorful drinks down the line, they'd finally kissed in a darkened corner of a club, where the music was slightly muffled and the lights did not quite catch. It was sweetened by alcohol and fruit, and drunken heaviness that made them lean comfortably into each other.

And later...well. The state of the restroom had left much to be desired, so they'd staggered off to James' illicitly-acquired airship where they'd managed to take off most of their clothes and accomplished only a bit of awkward fumbling, merely proving that neither of them were quite ready to do anything while inebriated. So, instead, they'd curled up together to sleep in the back of the ship.

It'd been the first time Ozpin had felt so much for anyone—and the first time he'd understood what it meant to fall.

But shortly after he'd turned nineteen, everything changed when he woke up one morning with a voice in his head and a literal million things he was suddenly expected to know, to _do_ —

So he'd cut himself off. Away from his team, and away from James. He hadn't known how to deal with himself—how, even, to define what it meant to be him any longer—and encouraged by secrecy and the danger his existence could pose, it'd seemed better just to leave everyone out of it.

He had been cruel in this. It was undeniable.

But years later, after James had taken the post of headmaster at his own institution, Ozpin had realized he _couldn't_ leave him out of it, not any longer. And over a difficult visit, when he'd told James about the Maidens, and the relics, and Salem—he'd finally told him about the curse, and the cycle. He would never forget the dawning realization on James' face as everything seemed to click.

“So you—you didn't want to stop,” James had said, slowly, carefully, as though he couldn't believe it.

Ozpin had lowered his gaze. “No.”

And then James had done something completely unexpected—he'd rounded his desk and pulled Ozpin into a fierce hug. Ozpin had frozen in shock.

“You're...not angry?”

“Of course I'm angry.” The vehemence of his words had been so incongruous with his actions that Ozpin had briefly wondered if the hug was some manner of strange attack. “But I still missed you, you asshole. You just dropped off and never said why.”

 _Why._ He had been afraid, of course. Of what he had become, of what it meant for anyone close to him. The weight of everything he was left very little room for anything else, and it seemed unfair to other people.

The simple truth was that he'd been too afraid to try.

“Oz, someday you're going to meet someone who's going to push you on your bullshit.” James had smiled a little sadly, as if acknowledging that he couldn't be that someone anymore. Not with all the silence and regret between them. “And you're going to want to push back on theirs.”

It had been portentous, though Ozpin wouldn't understand until much too late.

That feeling—the fluttering, the surprise—it was no longer new, not after the handful of lifetimes that he'd felt this way. But when he realized what Qrow had come to mean to him over the years, the warmth of it was still overwhelming.

But Qrow didn't so much push as... _ambush_ him. With aggressively passive-aggressive kindness. He would—do things. Like appear out of the blue to give his report, and then disappear as Ozpin expected, only to reappear unexpectedly twenty minutes later with a box of croissants from Ozpin's favorite bakery because he'd somehow divined that Ozpin hadn't eaten all day. Or the countless times he'd switched Ozpin's coffee out for decaf, and Ozpin wouldn't realize until he'd awoken hours later. Usually at his desk, with his work unfortunately adhered to his face.

And sometimes he was just...there. Keeping Ozpin company—willingly.

He'd confided in Glynda once about some of the things Qrow did, but received no advice or sympathy, only a small tirade that he suspected had been shortened because she'd had no time to waste on his foolishness. “The last time he was in the hospital, you took all of your work and sat there for three days to make sure he didn't try to escape.” She'd leveled him with an unimpressed stare and the end of her riding crop between his eyes. “You're both pining.”

It'd taken him a very long time to admit that there could be some merit in what she said.

But not very long at all to invite Qrow to his office to test the theory.

It was strange. He'd been afraid that Qrow would say no—but also equally afraid he would say yes. But then he _did_ say yes, and—

With James, he'd simply fallen in. With Qrow, he'd been slower. Uncertain. He'd stayed loose even as he kissed him, giving Qrow an out in case he suddenly changed his mind. But Qrow very emphatically had not—right over his chair. And the fall had been hellish on Ozpin's back, but he thought it was worth it if he got to have Qrow peppering him with kisses between indignantly muttered obscenities about 'the dick throne'.

James had been right. Ozpin did want to push back. He wanted to give.

\---

“So, you gonna tell me about your misspent youth or what?”

Ozpin, in the middle of biting down on his sandwich, had to take a moment. “What?” he said, muffled.

“'Discounted meal boxes and refillable coffee,'” Qrow said, mimicking Ozpin's wistful tone from earlier, when they had gone up and down the convenience store filling their arms with packaged food while the poor clerk stared from behind the counter, undoubtedly not too eager to be mopping soot off the floor.

And if the clerk went and discovered to his surprise no mess at all—well. Ozpin always cleaned up after himself, one way or another.

“I took missions with impunity in those days, and I didn't wish to spend what little free time I had on cooking.”

Qrow snorted into his sandwich. “That's a long way of saying you were lazy.”

Ozpin smiled, but didn't reply.

The park was indeed empty when they'd arrived. Furtively, as though they'd been doing something incredibly heinous, they had washed some of the ash off themselves at one of the water fountains, each looking out for any sudden spectators while the other scrubbed away. Qrow had beaten as much soot off Ozpin's scarf as he could, and though he returned it he wouldn't allow Ozpin to wear it, _don't do it there's so much crap still on it._

Ozpin had felt marginally better after, but a clean face and clean hands meant that eighty percent of him still wasn't. If it weren't so cold, he would seriously consider jumping into the lake. Instead, he finished his sandwich and lied back on the grass with a sigh, folding his arms over his stomach.

It wasn't possible to see many stars with all of the light pollution in the city, but Ozpin could still make out a few. He didn't need to see them, though. He knew their positions all too well.

“See anybody up there you recognize?”

Ozpin turned in time to catch Qrow's wince.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to—I don't know. You just looked kinda lost there. Forget I said anything.”

He fumbled blindly until he found Qrow's hand, squeezing reassuringly. He didn't quite know what to say. That he didn't mind; or that he didn't mind because it was Qrow; or that he had to admit that sometimes he wasn't certain he recognized anything, when his memories seemed more like half-forgotten stories. But that was all perhaps a little much for a pleasant night. “As a matter of fact, I do see someone I recognize.”

Qrow stared. “You're shitting me.”

“Not in the slightest.” He pointed at a cluster with his other hand. “Do you see there, nine stars? And the three below them shaped in a point?”

“The archer and the nine crows.” Qrow made a face that adequately summed up how he felt about that particular story. “Were you the _archer_?”

“No. I was his neighbor.”

“Okay, _now_ you're shitting me.”

“He wasn't a god as the myth suggests. He was simply a temperamental man who must have been tired of the noise.”

Qrow nudged him pointedly with his foot. “The beginning.”

Ozpin nodded. “Very well. Properly, then.” But it still took him a long moment to separate the memory, to untangle that life from the rest. Hesitantly, he began. “A long time ago, in a small village whose name is now lost to the ages, there lived a child who, instead of family or friends, had an abundance of magic. And in the truly stubborn wisdom of one who was lonely and neglected, he decided that instead of trying to make friends, he could _make_ friends. So he did, painstakingly creating two forms, shaping them into crows. His magic was powerful, although finite. But one, he thought, was too lonely.

“They were not living, exactly, but in every way that mattered to him, and perhaps even to them, they were alive. He fed them scraps off his own plate to fuel their magical cores, and he sent them to the fields to mingle with other crows, because it seemed only right. He could never be certain how aware they were, but every night they would sleep near him, sometimes rustling comfortingly in his hair until he fell asleep. And this was enough.

“But it would not last. One day, as at every sunset, he waited by his window for his crows to return from the fields. He waited until the last of the light dipped below the trees, but only one crow returned, jittery and agitated. He would learn the next day that one of the other villagers had gone on a drunken rampage through the fields. He was a skilled archer with a Semblance that only made his skill more potent.” Ozpin couldn't bring himself to mention that he had gone to the field. Or that he'd laid every crow (the one that was his and the eight that weren't) into the earth with his magic, but he'd left the blood strewn and speckled in the long grass. It'd seemed only right to leave something, to show that they'd been there.

“Though he was frightened of the possibility of losing it, he continued allowing his remaining crow the freedom to roam, because it was alive enough to need it. And he would wait for it at every sunset, never relaxing until it landed on his sill.”

Qrow's grip on his hand loosened, and only then, when he started feeling pins and needles creeping under his skin, did Ozpin realize that Qrow had been holding on so tightly. He was silent for a long moment. Eventually, he seemed to settle his thoughts, and then he laid down, one hand behind his head while the other remained entwined with Ozpin's. “That archer was a fucknut.”

Ozpin laughed, a little startled by that. “Yes, he was.”

“How the hell did he get so famous?”

“Now that, I have no idea. But stories often change as they're passed down. A moment of drunken rage sounds rather less inspiring than a god saving the world.”

“Still sucks.”

“Indeed.” He'd intended it as a simple story, but Qrow seemed unsettled still, and Ozpin—

He hadn't expected it to hurt quite so much, remembering it all. The friends he'd put together with his own hands, with too much power at his disposable and a fierce desire for something better. The grief he'd felt when he'd discovered that one had been killed. Two pieces of magic that had built their own lives around themselves, around him—and one had been taken away so senselessly.

With so much time between then and now, and all the lives that had passed since, he was surprised that he could still feel so much over it.

But then, of course he would.

He turned to Qrow, propping himself on an elbow—and this time, without any hesitation at all, he fell in. Qrow immediately gave, arcing up to meet him, a hand snaking behind Ozpin's neck, raking up his hair. And this was different from the kiss in the office. More certain, for both of them.

“What was that for?” Qrow asked, when they stopped for breath.

Ozpin considered it, but he couldn't find the words for the sudden urgency he felt to make it known that he was grateful—because he was _here_ and so was Qrow. “Nothing,” he said, smiling, and meant it. “Nothing at all.”

There was really no better reason.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to explain, the archer and crow thing is a real myth. It's a Chinese myth called Hou Yi and the Ten Suns. There are a couple variations (ex. nine suns instead of ten) but the general story tends to stay the same.
> 
> Real quick and loose for anyone that's curious: once, there were ten three-legged crows. They were essentially flaming balls of fluff and took turns being the sun that shone over the Earth. One day, they got the bright idea to go out all together because sun duty was boring alone. But as fireballs of death, they kinda accidentally scorched the earth and made the humans a bit irate.
> 
> So the Heavens sent down the Heavenly Archer to shoo them back home. They didn't listen and maybe also did something unpleasant to his hat. He didn't want to hurt them at first because they were his boss's kids, but since they weren't listening and the people were very dry and sad, he did his archer thing and shot down all but one.


	3. In which Qrow discovers that his heart is 73% fluff and he mostly doesn't mind.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 3: Trust

Qrow's apartment was more for storage than it was a living space, nowadays. It was a small place towards the shadier outskirts of downtown, where nobody could be bothered to bat an eye at strange noises in the middle of the night and the family bakery on the corner of Mahogany and Third sold the best donuts anywhere in Vale.

He made a note to pick some up tomorrow, if he managed to wake up before three.

Qrow had never really taken note of how tiny the elevator in his building was until he nearly whacked Ozpin's head into the wall twice. Thankfully, Ozpin didn't notice, too asleep to witness Qrow's complete lack of grace and dignity as he crab walked out into the hall. Using the wall as a prop got him his keys and some fancy maneuvering got the keys into the lock, and by the time he was in, standing bemusedly in his living room, he wondered how any hunter worth anything could possibly sleep through all that movement.

Years of coffee and chocolate had eroded Ozpin's instincts, or something. That was probably it.

The more sensible explanation was a little too much for Qrow right then.

Qrow moved carefully to the bedroom where he nudged the door open with Ozpin's feet, resisting the urge to shake his head as Ozpin continued to snore obliviously into his collar. Qrow set him sitting on the bed and slid beside him, holding him upright in a loose embrace. He accidentally knocked his watch off the bedside table as he felt for the switch on the lamp. A dim, yellowish light filled the immediate area around the table and did almost jack-all to illuminate anything else.

“Mmrgphmph,” said Ozpin into Qrow's shoulder, as Qrow started removing his jacket.

“Good morning,” Qrow said dryly.

“It is not,” Ozpin muttered, sounding affronted that Qrow would even suggest such a thing. “What are you doing?”

Qrow grinned. “Stripping you.”

“Oh.” Then, unexpectedly, “You're awfully slow.”

Qrow was almost tempted to demonstrate how quick he could be. “You're not exactly helping.” He tossed the jacket to the floor, then made to do the same with his shoes. “For real though, you're gonna wanna change.”

“Where are we?”

“My room.”

Weirdly, that seemed to get Ozpin going a little. He raised his head and looked around, then down at the bed. “We're getting ash on your sheets.” He made it sound like a crime.

“Thankfully, they're made of this newfangled thingy called cotton, which is _washable_.”

“But—“

Qrow gently placed a change of clothes into Ozpin's hands. “You're basically asleep. Forget about hygiene until noon.” He guided Ozpin to the bathroom where he made the mistake of turning on the light. Unlike his lamp, this was a proper light, totally blinding in its bright-ass fluorescence. “Put those on,” he said, trying to blink the spots out of his vision, shooing Ozpin in. “Believe me, you'll feel better for it.” Ozpin was still squinting when Qrow shut the door to give him privacy.

The clock on his dresser blinked 3am at him in neon green while he rummaged in it for more clothes. It'd been a long night. He didn't mind carrying Ozpin all the way from the park, but he certainly hadn't expected it. Qrow thought he'd wake up as soon as he was picked up, but five minutes down the street with Ozpin breathing restfully into his neck, Qrow realized he was stuck. And he hadn't had the heart to wake him.

Ozpin came out of the bathroom just as Qrow found a spare blanket in his closet. “Okay, so, if you need anything I'll be in the living room.”

“Why?”

Qrow blinked. “For sleeping. I'm gonna be on the couch.” It was technically a couch—in shape, if no longer in function. It was lumpy, it creaked ominously if anybody so much as set foot in the living room, and he used it mainly as a coat rack and laundry dump. But maybe if he didn't move and pretended he couldn't perceive its existence, it'd behave for a night.

“Oh.” Ozpin frowned. For a second, Qrow was afraid he was going to try to politely negotiate him for it— “I thought we were going to sleep in your bed,” he said tentatively, rubbing the back of his neck. “Together.”

“Uh,” Qrow said, his mind blanking.

“Did you not—“

“Of course I wanna sleep with you—“ Qrow stopped dead. “Wait, no, not like—I mean, yeah, if you wanna, but I mean—“ He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I kick in my sleep, all right?”

Ozpin stared, expectant. “I don't mean to make light of it—but is that all?”

“It gets kinda bad.” He wasn't even sure he knew what it was, really. He had nightmares sometimes, yeah, but this—this was just a stupid reflex. He'd gotten pushed out of bed so often by irate partners that he usually just crashed on whatever furniture was available to avoid the trouble.

“I don't mind being kicked.”

“ _I'd_ mind kicking you. Besides, with the day going the way it has, I wouldn't put it past my Semblance to make me knee you in the balls—“

Ozpin laughed quietly. “You won't.”

“You don't know that.”

“No, I suppose not.” He reached for Qrow's hand, tugging him lightly toward the bed, switching off the lamp as they went. “But I think it's worth the risk.”

It really wasn't, but Qrow still followed Ozpin under the blankets, not really as reluctant as he should have been given the real risk of his knees. Qrow even pulled him closer, because if he was going to be a weak fool he might as well go all in and enjoy it while he could before Ozpin inevitably kicked him out.

“You're gonna regret this.” Qrow couldn't help it. Last chance and all.

“I must admit, this is the first time I've ever been threatened trying to go to sleep.”

“I'm not responsible for anything that happens in the next ten hours,” Qrow said, knowing full well he'd take all the responsibility. Ozpin only laughed while Qrow adjusted their cocoon. “You good?”

“Yes.” Ozpin placed a kiss on his cheek with a quiet sigh, closing his eyes, cruelly unaware that he'd just shorted Qrow's brain for maybe the fifth time tonight. “Very much so.”

Qrow felt a little breathless. There was something about this moment, in darkness and warmth, that suddenly made all of this seem so much more real. Ozpin was really _here_. His head dipped against Qrow's, his hand a comforting weight on Qrow's hip, his breathing settling in a quiet rhythm as he quickly fell asleep. Qrow couldn't help but marvel at how peaceful Ozpin seemed to be, boneless and relaxed against him. It wasn't like anything he'd have expected, if he had expected anything at all.

He knew, of course he did—but it wasn't until now that he really thought about it, what it meant for them to be here now. The depth of Ozpin's faith in him.

Being a hunter took its toll all the time, in every way possible, but it was the accumulation that really wore people out. Big or small; the knowledge that one vanquished Grimm didn't mean a whole hell of a lot when there were millions lurking around; saving one hapless traveler and losing a village in the span of a day; those _moments_ that just hit in the middle of something nice, making you wonder if anything you did was actually worth something. This was a job where you learned to sleep without resting, one eye open and a weapon in your hand.

And growing up in the tribe, where he and Raven had only had each other in a place where opportunity came swiftly and everybody was expendable, Qrow had never had the luxury of believing in safety.

Even here—wrapped beneath well-worn blankets and tucked against each other, hidden in a nameless corner of the city—it would never be true safety. It couldn't.

But a break, well—that was still something, wasn't it? And most of the time, it could be good enough.

He couldn't quite believe that Ozpin would trust _Qrow_ of all people to be good enough.

But Qrow had placed his own trust in Ozpin a very long time ago. Maybe it wasn't really all that different.

\---

Qrow woke up pleasantly heavy and warm with his head tucked into the crook of Ozpin's neck. He blinked against the light coming through the window, rubbing his eyes to clear them. Ozpin was thumbing over his scroll with one hand while the other played gently with Qrow's hair, his ministrations making it difficult for Qrow to keep his eyes open.

“Looking up the fire?” Qrow said, slurred with pleasure and sleep. He felt Ozpin nod.

“There's a picture of you holding a birdcage and a very large cat.”

Qrow winced.

“And a video of me with my two goldfish,” he added brightly.

“You're saving that, aren't you?”

“And your picture.”

“Ugh, _please_.” He felt Ozpin's laugh as much as he heard it, a pleasing rumble that he could _never_ admit warmed his heart, if only because he would literally die.

“You didn't kick,” Ozpin said as he closed his scroll and placed it on his stomach.

It took Qrow way too long to realize what he meant, focused on the fingers lightly massaging his scalp. “Hmm?”

“You didn't kick.”

That was weird. “At all?”

“Not once.”

Huh. Small miracles. While most of him wasn't really awake enough to think about it too hard, part of him did wonder if Ozpin had anything to do with it. Maybe leg locked him or something. “What time is it?” he asked after a moment.

“Eleven.”

“Early.” He sidled up a little unsteadily to flop more of himself over Ozpin, who adjusted his hold accordingly, sighing into his hair. “Let's go back to sleep.”

He heard the smile in Ozpin's voice. “How can I argue with that?”

 

 


	4. In which Ozpin manages to give Qrow his gift within the century.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 4: Birthday

Ozpin fiddled with the cord of the pouch in his suit pocket, realized he was doing it _again_ , and—well, he'd been sitting here for more than an hour arguing when he could have been with Qrow and _not_ arguing, so he kept fiddling with the cord. Purely out of spite, now.

In Ozpin's rather extensive experience, there were meetings and then there were _meetings_. The latter was much like the former, only with more bluster and an unfortunate disregard for his desk when his guests felt the need to emphasize their point by banging on the poor thing. Little had changed in these few thousand years when it came to people.

But he was grateful for the technological advancements that allowed him the comfort of central heating on the more bitter days, especially while he pretended to listen to the council's latest representative lay out their newest list of grievances. This time, it was primarily about the academy's budget and the so-called exorbitant amount allocated to food.

Ozpin was tired of having to explain that super-powered adolescents were, in fact, the hungriest species of all.

He was also tired of constantly having to cancel his second date with Qrow, especially to accommodate people who took personal offense at the fact that his students weren't capable of photosynthesis. This was the third cancellation in two weeks.

A necessary check-in with Leo had forced the first, and the second was nothing Qrow would begrudge; Bart and his student team had gone dark on an extermination mission in one of the abandoned outlying cities beyond Vale. Ozpin trusted Bart, and the students were experienced third-years, but he hadn't been able to relax until they'd returned six hours later ahead of the search party, looking rather dirty but unharmed, and entirely unaware that the faculty had been in something of a panic. Apparently, they'd fallen into a Deathstalker nest and somehow destroyed their locator in the ensuing confusion.

Later, Bart had haltingly admitted that he'd accidentally sat on the thing. Ozpin, tired from worry and caffeinated to the eyeballs, had nearly cried.

Qrow, however, had doubled over laughing when Ozpin told him later. It hardly seemed fair, but as Ozpin had stood him up _again_ , his amusement seemed like a small price to pay.

But tonight was Qrow's last free day before his next mission. He was going to be gone for a week, and then another few days after to visit his family in Patch.

Ozpin looped the pouch's cord in his fingers as he took the council lackey's proposed budget revision. He'd waited this long. Another two weeks wouldn't be much more.

Half an hour later, when his 'guest' finally left, Ozpin allowed himself to slump in his chair, as much out of relief as it was irritation. The evening wasn't completely gone, but there was no time to do much with it now.

The budget revision beckoned him ominously with its deceptively simple cover. Having seen what could literally be hundreds of these, he doubted there was anything new. But he was obligated to skim it before writing his counter proposal.

Well. If he was going to wallow, he might as well do something useful.

Three pages in and still slumped lazily in his seat because he could _not_ be bothered to sit straight for this drivel, he was almost startled out of his chair when his scroll suddenly rang cheerfully from the corner of his desk. Weary and unwilling to deal with more people directly tonight, he was about to let it go to voice message when he glanced at the screen—then he was fumbling for it with more eagerness than he'd like to admit.

“Qrow?”

“Hey,” Qrow said, and it was the most comforting thing Ozpin had heard all day. “Your elevator's locked. Let me up.”

Ozpin obliged. A minute later, Qrow sauntered out of the elevator, smiling easily and bearing gifts. “Figured I'd bring dinner to you. It's a little cold,” he said with a shrug, sliding the case of beer and the pizza box onto Ozpin's desk, “since your seven 'o clock didn't leave 'til eight-thirty.”

“You've been waiting that long?”

“Wasn't that bad. Just hung around the roof of the cafeteria until I saw him leave.” He popped open two bottles and rounded the desk, handing one to Ozpin as he settled on the corner. “What the hell did that asshole want, anyway?”

“He was here on behalf of the council. They usually do come hounding around the beginning of the fiscal quarter.” He took a sip, watching as Qrow stuffed half a slice of pizza into his mouth. “I'm sorry about tonight,” he said hesitantly. "I know you've had the reservation for some time—"

Qrow waved him off. “It happens,” he said, muffled.

Yes, it did. Often. Qrow always said he didn't mind, but it wasn't fair on him. He deserved someone who didn't have to juggle their relationship with a thousand other things that could unexpectedly rear their ugly heads at any moment. Who didn't treat it as something to be _juggled_ at all.

“Quit it,” Qrow said, kicking him lightly in the shin.

Ozpin raised a questioning eyebrow.

“You've got your 'I'm brooding too fucking much' face on. And I _know_ what you're thinking.”

“Is that so?”

“Very so. Like, _all_ the so. And it _happens_ , okay?” Then, he added, “If it'll make you feel better, next time _I'll_ cancel on you. As a certified disaster area, I guarantee it's gonna happen any day now.”

“I'd rather you didn't.”

“I'd rather I didn't either.” Qrow shrugged, gesturing vaguely around the room with his pizza. “This is good too, you know.”

In its way it was fitting, as this was all they'd had for years—meals and plans and quiet conversations, all around this desk—and perhaps all they would have between everything else in their lives. If Ozpin was honest, he didn't mind it. Especially not the peace and the privacy.

But he'd been hoping to do something nicer to mark the occasion. And it was an occasion, even if Qrow had never shown anything but ambivalence about it. It wasn't an easy time for him, especially with reminders of his sister constantly hanging about, which was precisely why Ozpin wanted to give him something else to remember.

Well. If life was determined to thwart him at every turn— “I have something for you,” he said, his timing somewhat unfortunate as Qrow had just stuffed his mouth with another slice. He pulled the small pouch from his pocket and handed it to Qrow, carefully watching his expression and wishing, quite suddenly, that he'd slipped it into his pocket with a note instead.

A wristwatch slid out when Qrow turned it over. His eyes lit up with recognition and he tried to speak, but whatever he was trying to say ended up blocked by bread. Ozpin understood anyway.

“It is your watch, yes. I'm afraid I stole it—to fix it.” Qrow told him that he'd shattered the glass a while ago on some mission or other. It was inexpensive and, in Qrow's words, 'a dime a dozen', but it had been a birthday present from his niece, Yang. Which, as it happened— “I meant to return it to you on your birthday—”

Qrow went utterly still.

“—but these last two weeks have been somewhat hectic. I'm sorry the setting is less than ideal, but it's probably best to return it to you while we have the opportunity. I'm afraid I couldn't do anything for the crack on the face and the band was quite worn so I took the liberty of...” He trailed off, aware that he was babbling too much in the uncertainty of Qrow's silence. “I hope you find it adequate.”

To his surprise, Qrow laughed. “' _Adequate'?”_ Are you—Oz, this—“ He turned the watch in his hands thoughtfully, smoothing his thumb over the new glass. “ _You_ fixed it?”

Ozpin lowered his gaze to his bottle. “Ah—yes. It's been some time since I—but it seemed simple to do, so—“

“Oz. Thanks.”

He looked up, and wished he hadn't.

Qrow's smile was so open and warm, a rare softness in his gaze—and it was directed at _him_.

Ozpin felt something in his chest stutter, surprised and a little painful. Unable to form words, he merely nodded dumbly, still a little awed. To prevent himself from doing something terribly humiliating—like _melt_ —he took another sip of his beer.

“Ah, fuck,” Qrow said suddenly, and Ozpin thought there was something wrong with the watch. “You're really unfair, you know that? You kinda made that pretty hard to follow up on, but hey—“ Qrow quickly nudged something into his hand. It was a tiny box wrapped in shiny yellow paper. “Happy birthday.”

_What._

It took a moment for the words to register, and a longer one for him to fully realize today's date.

Ozpin's mind went abruptly blank as he stared at the little box. Then, he brought up his beer and drank. And kept drinking.

 


	5. Sometimes, it matters.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 5: Mixtape

If Qrow had to be honest, telling somebody 'happy birthday' only for them to drink _basically forever_ as a response was kind of off-putting.

But Qrow was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. Birthdays to Ozpin probably didn't feel quite the same as they did for everyone else. Actually, if Qrow were in his position, he'd probably go through the whole case.

Still, Qrow wasn't sure he'd ever seen Ozpin _chug_ anything, not even coffee.

“Uh,” he said when Ozpin finished and looked down at the box in his hands like it was going to eat him. “You okay?”

“Yes,” Ozpin said in the flattest, unconvincing tone Qrow had ever heard. “Sorry. I'm—just surprised.”

Qrow frowned. “'Cause I know your birthday? You know you can just search it up, right?” He'd known it for years, ever since he and Raven had gone up and down every public archive collecting information on the hunters situated at Beacon. Ozpin's had stuck with him in that annoying, involuntary way dumb bits of trivia always did—and it didn't help that his was so close to Qrow's.

And it wasn't dumb trivia anymore.

“No, it's—“ He seemed embarrassed, suddenly. He wouldn't look up. “I'd forgotten that it was today,” he admitted quietly.

As far as he knew, Ozpin was about as enthusiastic about his birthday as Qrow was about his own, which tended to hover between 'not at all' and 'this day just doesn't exist'. But forgetting was something else. Ozpin was technically—in some weird, horrible kind of spiritual patchwork way—old as fuck-all. He'd had a lot of birthdays, hadn't he? A couple thousand years was a lot of lives; birthdays probably got mixed up a ton along the way. Hell, probably half the calendar was his birthday.

Oh god. Never bring that up. _Never._

“It has been a long time since—ah.” Ozpin shook his head. “Nevermind.”

Qrow definitely minded. There was something in Ozpin's voice that sounded off. “Since what?”

Ozpin glanced up briefly, looking a little surprised, like he hadn't expected Qrow to ask. “Oh. Well.” He seemed to be considering his answer. “It's really nothing. I simply haven't had a reason to remember it in some time.”

That didn't sound simple at all. Qrow stared at him as he turned the box, the bright yellow of the wrapping glinting off his glasses, and couldn't think of anything to say. Not when he sounded like that, distant and closed.

“You're like Ruby,” Qrow despaired instead as Ozpin picked at the tape, unwilling to tear into the packaging like a regular heathen.

“It's nice paper. I like yellow.”

“Now you sound like her.”

Ozpin didn't seem deterred about being compared to a six year old, continuing to delicately peel the tape. At one point, Qrow could have sworn he was being slow on purpose just to be annoying. When he finally made it through, folding the paper back and opening the box, he pulled out the little stick drive.

_Here we go._ “It's music,” Qrow said. “From sort of everywhere. Festivals, street performances, concerts—lots of concerts. Birds get free admission. I recorded it all on my scroll, so the quality's not great, but you can still hear everything pretty well. Just warning you, there's a lot. Like, _a lot_ a lot.” He ran a hand through his hair nervously. “Been collecting for a couple of years now. Just never got around to giving you any 'cause—“ He hadn't known how. He'd been afraid that Ozpin would take it the wrong way—which in all fairness was the right way, but Qrow hadn't wanted him to know that, then. And _now_ —

Ozpin was silent, still looking at the drive. Qrow couldn't see his face from this angle.

“It's, uh, not great, I know—“

“'Not great',” Ozpin repeated with a shaky laugh. “Qrow, this—it's _amazing_.”

Qrow felt his face heat up. It was the way he said it, like it wasn't Qrow just going around pressing record on his scroll, like it wasn't something anybody could do.

“You must have gone through so much trouble,” he continued. “Why?”

It was times like this that Qrow had to wonder if Ozpin was ever...aware. That sometimes he'd say things that revealed more of himself than he probably ever wanted to—and that were sort of really terrible because of the way the realization would just creep up. The worst part was that it all likely sounded pretty normal to him. Stuff like 'the sky is blue' and 'traffic downtown is a bitch' all in the same, easy vein as a 'why' that somehow couldn't comprehend that Qrow did something for him just because he wanted to.

Like it was somehow any different from stealing Qrow's watch to fix it up all secret-like.

“I know you miss traveling, and I know you can't do much of it because of—well, _everything_. So I figured, if you can't go then I'll just bring something back for you.”

Ozpin didn't reply. Qrow was feeling less and less like this was anywhere near a good idea. He probably should have just dropped it through his bedroom window with a note.

“You know already that I'm not usually big on birthdays. But eight years and two nieces kinda changed some things.” Lots of things. The girls made it hard for him to want to be a brooding mess whenever they sent videos of the newest misshapen cake they made for him, gooey with icing and a 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY UNCLE QROW' that went along the side when they ran out of space.

“Yang asked us once—Tai and me—about why birthdays are really a thing. Why people celebrate 'em besides wanting to be nice and happy. And I didn't know what to tell her. But Tai—it was like he knew this was going to come up, he was so fucking prepared. He just said, 'We do it because we're grateful this person's here.' It's exactly the kind of thing you tell a kid because it's sweet, but I think it's bullshit a lot of the time.” Qrow paused, watching Ozpin carefully. “But I also think that sometimes, for the people that really matter, it isn't.”

The silence continued. Qrow was about ninety percent sure there was something wrong.

“Oz, are you—“

He lost the rest in one surprised breath as he suddenly found himself wrapped up in strong arms, pulled into a tight embrace while Ozpin was apparently doing his best to kiss the daylights out of him. It was definitely working. Qrow was losing all the daylight ever.

“Sorry,” Ozpin said breathlessly, inexplicably, pulling back and loosening his hold. “I didn't mean to—“

Qrow leaned in, moaning with frustration. “You fucking better have—“ He pressed their lips together as he pulled Ozpin hard against him, narrowing their world to the moment, to feeling and heat. Qrow's lips moved down, down his chin, pressing hungry kisses over his throat, and he felt more than heard Ozpin's breath hitch, the way his back arced slightly, his hand pausing halfway up Qrow's shirt and fingers tightening reflexively above his hip. Then Qrow finally slid off the desk, arms locked around Ozpin's hips, pushing back and stumbling—

“ _Ohfuckshit_ —“ The rest was an angry garble as they flailed painfully into Ozpin's chair, crashing into a tangled, groaning heap on the floor.

Qrow was totally convinced at this point that his Semblance and Ozpin's chair were conspiring together. He wasn't sure what it said about his sanity that he considered a piece of bad furniture his archenemy.

“Perhaps in the future, we should avoid doing this around my desk,” Ozpin said, his words mostly a breathy hiss as he winced.

“Maybe get a chair that isn't fifty percent extra edge, how 'bout that?”

“It's comfortable when it's not hazardous.”

Qrow laughed. “That's it? That's your best endorsement?”

“I admit to being a bit distracted at the moment.” In one smooth movement, Ozpin rolled them over until their positions were switched. He smiled down at Qrow, soft and easy, his gaze bright with a gentle fondness that Qrow didn't think he would ever understand.

“You know,” Qrow said, “I think this is the first time you've ever topped—“

Ozpin kissed him again, this time probably to shut him up—but Qrow could feel him laughing.

 

 


	6. It takes two.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 6: Silence

There were two things Ozpin was highly aware of as he slowly blinked into wakefulness:

The first was that he'd forgotten to close the window, and the room was now absolutely freezing. But as most of him was bundled rather cozily in the blankets with Qrow, and his clothes were nowhere within arm's reach, he didn't feel the slightest temptation to leave his very warm and very comfortable spot to go close it.

The second was that Qrow's snoring was more rumble than noise, so it felt a bit like he was being hugged by a large, affectionately purring cat. Which Ozpin did not mind at all. Emphatically the opposite. If he didn't think Qrow would be vastly unimpressed with the suggestion, he would encourage this behavior while Qrow was conscious, too.

It only contributed to his inclination to remain where he was. Also, as Qrow was using his chest as a pillow and had effectively claimed half of him by way of sprawling, Ozpin couldn't do anything to wake him. It'd be _rude_.

Yes. That was it.

But even surrounded as he was by every comfort he could ever need, he still couldn't get back to sleep.

He'd been running again—this time through a thick forest half dead with the winter cold, his boots crunching through dried leaves and his blood beating a painful rhythm in his ears. It was less like a dream and more a slightly indistinct memory, something from so long ago that it was little more than a disconnected fragment. He remembered slipping on wet roots and falling, and the sound of footsteps approaching from behind—but no more.

He was almost certain that was a blessing.

It wasn't much—and almost nothing compared to all the rest that had been happening lately—but he still felt unsettled. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was still being chased. But then, he never could.

Perhaps he'd go and close that window after all. And put on the kettle.

If he could extract himself first. Qrow's sloppy hold wasn't as light as it seemed. Ozpin inched over until he found himself partially dangling out of bed, one arm and one leg out of the covers, but the rest of him was held so securely that he'd simply managed to drag Qrow along with him.

“Where're you going?” Qrow said, mumbling into Ozpin's chest the moment Ozpin tried to move his arm.

“To close the window.”

“Nah, forget the window.”

“It's cold.”

“Then get back in.” And Qrow began pulling at him for emphasis, a lazy but unrelenting gesture, and Ozpin had to oblige only because he suspected Qrow would stubbornly latch onto him and allow himself to be dragged the whole way across the room. He let Qrow turn him until they were facing each other, entwining their legs.

“Another dream?”

Ozpin grew still, even as Qrow started rubbing the warmth back into his limbs. It seemed useless to deny it, but he couldn't help but be mildly embarrassed. “Am I really so obvious?”

“You weren't snoring on me, so something had to be wrong.” Qrow shrugged, but the ease of the gesture belied the slight tightening of his hand on Ozpin's arm. “And for the past two nights, you got up and made tea and lied about having slept.”

There was no hint of accusation, but Ozpin was practically a statue.

“I wasn't gonna say anything yet, but—“ Qrow's gaze softened. “You know I'm here? If you wanna talk about it.”

“And if I don't?” he said, clipped and a bit harsher than he intended. He regretted it almost immediately, but Qrow simply placed an impossibly gentle kiss on his forehead, lingering, and Ozpin felt the tension bleed out of his bones, leaving him suddenly tired.

“We'll work on it. I'm not going anywhere.”

Ozpin swallowed down the sudden lump in his throat, but he couldn't find anything to say. This happened often where Qrow was concerned. It would have been more alarming if Ozpin knew what to make of it, but the only conclusion he could draw was that he was irrevocably lost whenever Qrow favored him with a crooked smile or a reassuring touch, and lately with kisses that took his words and made him senseless. And also, this. A promise.

“I'm like a rash,” Qrow continued, grinning easily. “Only for forever. Can't get rid of me with any cream."

Ozpin didn't want to acknowledge it, but his face was doing its best to undermine him. It had to be too dark to see his blush, and yet Qrow still looked rather smug.

“Charming,” he said dryly. But he couldn't quite return the smile.

Qrow took hold of Ozpin's hand and squeezed gently. "Oz?"

Ozpin shook his head, but Qrow's gaze remained expectant. “You won't believe me when I say that the dreams are nothing new, but they really aren't. There's nothing to worry about.”

“I hate to break it to you, but this? This is worrying. And nothing new doesn't mean it's nothing at all.”

It was nothing he should burden Qrow with. He put too much on him as it was.

“You've got your broody face on again. Twice in one night is a lot.”

Ozpin sighed. “I do not have—“

“Yes, you do. It's a lot of frowning, only with more dignity and like. Posh-ness.”

“What does that _mean_ —“

Qrow cupped his face then, tilting it up. There was something firm in his gaze. “It's okay, you know. I get it. And you know I'm really no good at this either. Maybe together we'll do it right.”

“I'm almost certain that isn't how that works,” Ozpin protested.

“Won't know until we try. You don't have to tell me anything if you really don't want to, but I'm betting you do, and you've probably come up with a thousand reasons why it's a bad idea. That's cool. Like I said, we'll work on it.”

He began stroking Ozpin's cheek with his thumb, repetitive and soothing, and Ozpin was quite certain he would never be used to the way Qrow smiled at him. Always fond, and with a level of care that he was constantly afraid he would never be able to adequately reciprocate.

“You and me, we're gonna be figuring this out for a while. It won't be easy, and one of us is gonna cry—let's face it, it'll be Tai because he has to deal with my dumb ass.”

Ozpin laughed in spite of himself, and it sounded embarrassingly uneven.

“So it doesn't have to be right now. Right now, all you have to do is get some sleep.”

He wasn't certain he could, but Qrow seemed about ready to fall asleep himself, so he merely nodded. Wordlessly, Qrow wriggled closer as he pulled Ozpin into a loose embrace, sighing a little as he settled with his head tucked against Ozpin's neck. A few minutes later, he was out completely, leaving Ozpin to the dark and the silence once again.

But there was something else in it now, besides the lingering uncertainty of his dreams. Something comforting. Wrapped up with Qrow, bundled tight against the cold, and the soft weight of his words between them.

_Maybe together we'll do it right._

Maybe. Ozpin could believe in that, at least for now.

Although he was settled, he didn't manage to sleep until the light from the window turned gray-blue with the predawn. He didn't know it then, but he would sleep until well into the afternoon, and when he awoke he would discover a monstrous-looking omelet waiting for him in his kitchenette—and a messily scrawled note next to the plate informing him that Qrow had silenced his scroll and called in sick for him.

He was going to like the omelet. But that was some time away.

 


	7. This, too, can be a life.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 7: Free day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's done! °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖° I hope you all enjoyed something of this story~

“Remind me again why I thought this was a good idea.”

“You didn't. You thought it was a terrible idea but, as you said, 'Fuck it, let's do it anyway', how could I have possibly argued with that?”

“You're hot when you curse.” That didn't mean all that much, though. Qrow thought Ozpin was hot all the time.

Ozpin glanced up as he lowered the tarp, frowning. “This isn't the time.”

“Yeah, well, you're not gonna find the little shits hiding here.” The stands were out of the way, moved over out of disuse and disrepair. He started pulling Ozpin back toward the market. “Who's gonna hide under there? Shit looks haunted.”

Like a fool, Qrow thought he'd give the romance thing another try because he had to get it right one of these days, right? _Right?_

Tempting fate right there, but as his whole existence was exactly that, he felt he had some experience.

Patch had an annual Spring Festival, and it seemed like the kind of thing people date at. It was nice and pretty and happy, and most importantly it was primarily outdoors, so if anything caught fire he and Ozpin wouldn't have to do a whole lot of rescuing. Nevermind that Tai thought it was the perfect opportunity to catch a break and therefore foisted his hellspawn on them.

 _You'll be fine,_ Tai had said. _The girls won't get in your way,_ he'd said.

That was the problem. The girls were so much not in their way they were fucking _gone_.

Tai was going to kill him.

“You'd be surprised,” Ozpin insisted. “The stands are covered, and there is plenty of space.”

“More of your misspent youth?” Qrow said, laughing at him even as he scanned the crowds for any sign of his nieces. He wasn't too worried; they were smart kids, Yang had a mean bite, and this was Patch for fuck's sake. Nothing ever happened out here, which was sort of the appeal when Tai and Summer had decided to raise their little family here—

But the forests. The forests were normal; pretty, seventy percent of the island, and Grimm-infested.

He'd give it another five minutes. Then he'd freak.

“They're a good place to nap.”

“If you like death traps.” He saw some of that rotted wood; that was probably why there was tarp.

“Children aren't usually aware of what constitutes a death trap. But speaking of—“ Ozpin was looking over the crowd, at the trees beyond. It seemed like he and Qrow were on the same train of thought.

“They know not to go.” Especially not after last time. But Qrow couldn't shake off the worry. “Hey, I'm gonna—“

“Yes. Go. I'll keep looking down here.” Ozpin squeezed his hand briefly, giving him a reassuring smile, and then he disappeared into the crowd.

Qrow doubled back to the dilapidated stands and with a quick look around to make sure no one was paying attention, he ducked behind the tarp. A second later, he flew out from beneath a bench and soared into the air above the market.

Maybe he and Ozpin just weren't cut out for dating. It was obvious that the gods were still on their sabotage kick. If every attempt Qrow made was just going to get them and other people caught in a crisis, maybe he should stop.

 _I just wanna do something nice,_ he'd explained, when Ozpin had asked him why he was so adamant about the festival. _For you. 'Cause you never get to go anywhere._

Ozpin had been quiet for a moment. Then— _But I don't need to go anywhere when I'm with you._

And maybe that was true, but it only made Qrow want to take him out _more_ , goddamnit.

He was broken out of his thoughts when he heard a pair of familiar voices as he skimmed near a stall.

“—not lost we're just—uh—“

“—Yang, it's trying to _melt_ —“

Qrow nearly transformed then and there, but he remembered himself long enough to land behind a bush. A moment later, he stood up, brushing down his pants and scaring the couple that had been making out on the other side as he loped over them and toward his nieces.

“I look away for thirty seconds—“

“Uncle Qrow! Here!” Ruby shoved an ice cream cone into his hands. The ice cream was pink with red swirls.

“ _What.”_

“It's ice cream.”

“...you're telling me you made me lose my mind 'cause you wanted ice cream?”

Ruby tilted her head. “Why'd you lose your mind?”

“We told you we were gonna get it,” Yang said.

“You so did not.”

“We did too. You were kissing your boyfriend.” Yang leveled an accusatory finger at him. “That was more than thirty seconds.”

“Ages,” Ruby confirmed cheerfully, because any length of time more than five seconds was ages to her.

Qrow found he couldn't deny it. He _had_ been kissing Ozpin before he found out his nieces had disappeared. “Don't tell your dad,” he said tiredly.

“We won't,” Yang said.

“If you let us have funnel cake,” Ruby said.

“Two each,” Yang added.

Fucking blackmail. He'd be proud if it weren't _his_ ass on the line. “Yeah, all right, whatever. Don't come crying to me when you get sick.”

“We'll cry at your boyfriend,” Yang said. And before Qrow could think of anything to say to that, she handed him one of her cones. “That's for him. If he doesn't like chocolate, you guys can switch.”

“Uh.”

“Over there! Uncle Qrow's boyfriend!” Ruby shouted, alerting everyone in a fifteen foot radius of them, and Qrow nearly fucking died right there.

Ozpin was just a little ways ahead of them. He turned, a faint blush and clear bewilderment on his face. Qrow was too occupied with the fact that Ozpin had actually responded to the call to scold Yang for slipping his wallet out of his pocket. He made sure they were heading to the funnel cake vendor, and then he turned back to Ozpin, who'd made his way over and was still blushing.

“I see you found them,” he said dryly.

“Yeah, they were just getting ice cream—oh, here.” Qrow handed him the chocolate one. “Might wanna eat it quick.”

It was already dripping a trail over Ozpin's fingers, but he didn't seem to mind. He licked at them, sucking on a knuckle, apparently completely unaware that this made Qrow want to desperately find a wall to kiss him against.

Well, he could make do.

“Qrow—wait—“

Qrow wrapped his hand around Ozpin's tie and pulled him in, pressing their lips together, cutting off Ozpin's protest into a surprised murmur. There was a vague sweetness on his tongue, and he was as eager as Qrow, his hand cupping Qrow's face—

“Uncle Qrow, the ice cream's melting,” Ruby said.

“You're supposed to get a room!” Yang said.

Qrow broke the kiss and sighed into Ozpin's neck before turning to them, eyeing their armfuls of loot. It was an impressive amount, considering he'd only left them alone for two minutes. “That's more than funnel cakes,” he said, picking up a caramel stick that had been precariously balancing against Ruby's shoulder.

“Well, you were kissing again, so it's fair.”

Qrow could feel Ozpin trembling with suppressed laughter. “Ah, shut up and eat your ice cream.”

Ozpin only laughed harder.

-

-

-

_Epilogue_

_A few years later..._

 

Once in a while, when he woke up before Ozpin, he'd lie there and just...listen.

To the muffled sounds of the city gradually awakening, to the quiet ticking of the watch on his bedside table, to Ozpin's quiet breathing close to his ear, feeling the comforting rise and fall of his chest. He'd play with Ozpin's hair, threading his fingers through soft strands, and his heart would swell a little painfully whenever Ozpin unconsciously pulled him closer or dug his head further into Qrow's shoulder. There would be half an hour, an hour at most, before either of them had to get up. But until then, the time was theirs.

There was a sort of peace in those mornings that Qrow would have given almost anything to have more of. More time, when all they usually had were sporadic moments here and there. He couldn't say they made the most of every bit—who really did that, anyway? But they had them, and that was half the battle.

Sometimes, they went like this:

“Qrow, this is childish,” Ozpin said, though he was partly muffled by Qrow's shoulder.

“So is me having to tell you to go to sleep.” Qrow adjusted himself on Ozpin's lap, squeezing his legs tighter around the back of the chair when Ozpin tried to lean closer to his desk. It was a very feeble attempt. Ozpin could have easily just stood up and dropped Qrow on the floor, but Qrow was kind of counting on him not to. “I prefer you without the eye bags. I think your eyes do, too.”

“I'm almost finished with this report—“

“You said that an hour ago. That ain't almost.” Qrow lifted his head to face Ozpin, nearly headbutting him when Ozpin tried to lean forward again. “It can wait.” Then Qrow kissed him, heavy and slow, a hand braced around his neck and the other pressed to his chest, and when he moved away Ozpin tried to follow him, a whimper on his lips that could have been pleasure or exhaustion.

Qrow smirked. “Distracted enough yet?”

“I can't even remember the last five minutes.”

Sometimes, there was this:

_Raven is walking away. There's a chasm between them, wide and seemingly endless, the dark of it threatening to swallow him as he stares into it; Qrow doesn't remember if it has always been there, if it's always been this big—_

“Qrow—“

— _Summer turns to him and tells him something that doesn't want to be remembered, little more than an indistinct echo of her voice, and she smiles grimly the way she always does when she has to leave them—and then she disappears in a flash of light—_

“—stop—“

— _Tai's just there at the bottom of the stairs, head between his knees and hands clasped behind his neck, counting one to ten and never making it to five, while Qrow catches a little blink of gold by the kitchen and he picks up Yang, says unsteadily into her shoulder, 'It's gonna be okay, kid, dad's gonna be okay—'_

_'Where's mommy?'_

_He freezes. 'She's—' They're—_

“Qrow.”

 _He shakes and shakes, and he doesn't know—_ anything _—and digs his nails into the wall, looking up—_

—into a pair of familiar brown eyes. Ozpin was on top of him, half sitting on his legs, pinning his arms to the bed. He looked frantic, fearful.

“Oz?” His own voice sounded far away, heavy. Qrow was cold and sweating, and the sheets beneath him felt uncomfortably warm. “What's—“

“You had a nightmare.” Ozpin moved off him, allowing Qrow to sit up. “I'm sorry,” he said when Qrow tried to rub the feeling back into his wrists, still feeling that strange, muddled distance. There was some redness on his skin, but Qrow doubted it'd amount to anything. “You were thrashing. I didn't want you to hurt yourself.”

“It's okay, it's—“ Qrow stopped as he looked up.

The light from the window was dim, but it was enough. There was a large bruise on Ozpin's cheek that was sure to turn darker come morning, and long red scratches down his arm that weren't bleeding but still looked painful. Qrow felt something cold drop in his gut.

“Shit, I'm sorry—“ He scrambled to his knees and hovered there uncertainly, frozen to the spot by the wariness on Ozpin's face. “I didn't—“ Something cracked, then, and suddenly the distance was gone, dissipating like fog in the wind. And then he _felt_. Fuck, he remembered—

Ozpin was there before Qrow started shaking, his hands on Qrow's arms, running up and down them soothingly. “It's all right,” he said, soft, certain, holding Qrow's gaze. “You're fine. You're right here.”

Qrow shuddered as he fell in, burying his head in Ozpin's shoulder, hands fisting in his shirt.

Sometimes, in the morning:

“You used all the hot water,” Ozpin complained, shooting Qrow a baleful glare over his shoulder.

Qrow raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?” He waited until Ozpin turned back to the stove, and then he sneaked a quick kiss behind his ear.

The blush was immediate and brilliant. “Qrow?” he said, glancing back—then squawked with surprise as Qrow began peppering his neck with light kisses. “What—what are you doing?”

“Giving you a reason for that cold shower.”

“What? That—but I've already—“ He dissolved into surprised laughter and nearly hit his head against the range hood as Qrow started relentlessly tickling his sides. He pushed at Qrow and weakly begged him to _stop, please, the eggs are going to burn_ —

And sometimes at night:

“What about this one?” The scar was above Ozpin's left hip. It was old, a knot of silver lines on pale skin.

“A mission that didn't quite go as planned. My teammate and I were tracking a group of Grimm smugglers. He believed it would be suitably dramatic if we dropped into their lair through the skylight.” Out of the corner of his eye, Qrow saw Ozpin crack a tiny smile. “We were fine going through, but the fight dragged on, and at some point I was thrown onto the glass. My aura had already broken and...it was quite a mess.”

Qrow winced and stopped his tracing, but Ozpin's hand came up over his, and he pressed them gently to his scar.

“This one,” Ozpin said, his other hand brushing lightly over something on Qrow's right shoulder blade.

Qrow automatically knew which one it was. “Oh, no.”

Ozpin paused. “As in you'd rather not say?”

“No, as in you're maybe gonna laugh at me forever.”

“That could fall under reluctant disclosure, if you wish.”

Qrow waved it off, shaking his head. “Nah, it's all right. So, couple of years ago behind some bar, I was banging this guy—“

“Oh, no.”

And so it was. Moments. A handful of minutes and hours they could spare between everything else that they were. A thousand 'sometimes' that they did their best to turn into a life.

Occasionally, they would manage dates outside, in some darkened corner of a restaurant or the crowded streets of markets, or late night picnics at the park because Qrow wasn't lying when he said he liked them—and Qrow would tell Ozpin his own stories. About Ruby and Yang, about some of the really dumb shit he and his team used to get up to, and about the tribe. What used to be home. About some of the better things from back then—and even though there wasn't much, there had been just enough to make him hesitate when Raven had swallowed her pride and actually asked—what passed as asking for her, anyway—for him to go back with her.

Once, when Ozpin had been feeling prickly and tired and stretched far too thin, he'd asked Qrow if he regretted not going back. If staying and _'suffering as he had'_ was worth what little he'd gained—

And Qrow, knowing it was stress and maybe alcohol and nothing truly meaningful—but still kinda pissed because _what the fuck, dude_ —actually headbutted him. Hard, bumps for days if not for their auras. Qrow had grabbed Ozpin before he fell to the floor, pulling him into a rough embrace, and just held on.

“There's nothing little about what I've got. Tai, Ruby, Yang—and you. You don't get to put a value on what you are to me. That's my job.” He'd felt Ozpin stiffen. “If I regretted it, why the hell would I be here?”

And it must have done something, because it was only the once.

But later, much later, because turnabout was fair play or something, and because Qrow had been drop dead drunk and just so damn pissed at everything, he'd asked Ozpin if he regretted fucking him when he could have been fucking someone better. He'd never seen Ozpin look quite like he had in that moment, so open and utterly raw. So _hurt_. Immediately, Qrow had known he'd screwed up big. But Ozpin, unfair as he always was, had simply taken his hand while Qrow had been too busy barfing into the toilet to apologize, and said, “You are my better.”

Fucking. Unfair. Of course he'd fallen for the one person in all of Remnant that could say these kinds of things.

And here was the thing: in all this time, there had always been a part of him that couldn't believe any of this was real. That there had to be some kind of catch that he couldn't see or understand.

But that. The feeling in those words, Ozpin's hesitation as he'd held Qrow's hand, and the way he ducked his head, unable to look Qrow in the eye—

Qrow knew then that he'd meant it.

And that was _more_ than enough.

It wasn't perfect, what they had. Qrow could be cruel, and Ozpin could be distant. There were still things they couldn't talk about very often, things that were simply too much and so deeply rooted in who they were that mentioning any of it seemed to shake loose something fundamental. Sometimes it hurt knowing so much of each other, because there was only so much they could do to help the other.

But they were still here, trying. It mattered. And it was worth every moment scrounged and stolen.

They would never be able to have every day. Sometimes, all they had was a couple of days before Qrow had to leave again, keeping long months of necessary silence. But whenever Qrow came back from the field, he would find Ozpin's window open and waiting.

And soon enough, they would have the morning again.

 

 


End file.
